Free The Senator's Wife by Karen Robards Page A

then?”
    He shook his head. “I spend a lot of time out here, particularly when Mark’s in town. He and Mom are pretty tight, and I don’t like to leave him alone in my apartment. But most of my things are at the apartment, so I suppose I live there. I travel a lot. Being on the road several months out of the year is an occupational hazard of what I do for a living.”
    “Have you been working as a political consultant for long?” Ronnie was suddenly curious as to how such a career happened. As far as she knew, it wasn’t something one could choose to major in at college. He must be well known in the field, because Christine Gwen had recognized him.
    He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wondering if I’m any good? I am. One of the best in fact. I’ve been working on political campaigns since I was in high school.”
    Ronnie did not doubt that he was telling the truth, but something was off. Political consultants went to the highest bidder, and the best commanded hefty fees, easily six figures a year. But Quinlan struck her as having had to scramble to get this job, as being hard up for work, as hurting for money in fact.
    Before she could pursue that line of inquiry further, the screen door opened and Mrs. McGuire stepped out onto the back stoop.
    “Tommy?” she called.
    “Here,” he answered. Her head turned and she found them on the swing.
    “Telephone,” she said. “Kenny.”
    Quinlan frowned. “Excuse me.” He stood up and headed for the house. Mrs. McGuire came toward Ronnie as he left. They passed each other on the driveway.
    “I believe we’re going to get a storm.” Mrs. McGuire reached the swing and stood beside it for a moment, staring out over the tobacco field. Gathering clouds darkened the northern horizon. The afternoon was still stiflingly hot, but there was an intermittent, cooler breeze that ruffled leaves and hair and whispered of an impending change in the weather.
    “I hope so,” Ronnie said. “Anything would be a relief from this heat.”
    “I sort of like the heat.” Mrs. McGuire smiled at her. “I guess because it says summer to me. Some of my happiest memories are of this farm in the summer. Tommy’s daddy and I moved here in the summer. He was born the following summer. His brother was born three summers later. And always, when the boys were growing up, in the summer there were ballgames and cookouts and swimming and happy times.”
    “It sounds like you have an idyllic life here,” Ronnie said.
    “Not idyllic, but good. Until Tommy’s daddy died anyway. After that, things changed.” She sighed. “But that’s the way life is, isn’t it? The one thing you can count on is change.”
    The screen door banged, interrupting. Ronnie glanced around to discover Quinlan returning. His expressionwas grim. Ronnie felt a twinge of anxiety. What had occurred to make him look like that?
    “Is something wrong?” she asked when he reached them.
    He glanced down at her, then over at his mother, who was watching him with a gathering frown. It was obvious that she, too, realized something was amiss.
    “Could you excuse us a minute, Mom?” he said.
    Mrs. McGuire’s eyebrows went up, but she nodded. “Of course.”
    “What is it?” Ronnie asked sharply even as the other woman was crunching her way across the gravel.
    Quinlan looked down at her for a second without replying. His expression told her he was uncomfortable with what he had to say.
    “What is it?” she asked again, her hands clasping of their own accord in preparation for what she felt in her bones would be bad news.
    “My partner, Kenny Goodman, just got off the phone with a reporter from the Globe . It’s a weekly tabloid, in case you haven’t ever run across it.”
    “I know what it is,” Ronnie said, her hands twisting in her lap. It was obvious he was reluctant to continue. “Go on.”
    “They want a comment from you on a story they’re getting ready to run.” He hesitated, rubbing the side of his jaw as if